


Such Proper Language for Acts so Cruel

by Rovardotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, Child Abuse, M/M, Not a Love Story, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rovardotter/pseuds/Rovardotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now Theon was reborn as well, out of the ashes of his hatred and his contempt.</p><p>"I will protect you," he told Robb. "If you let me I will keep you safe."</p><p>"I don't believe you," Robb sniffled, but he desperately, so desperately <em>wanted to</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Proper Language for Acts so Cruel

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt was: _Pre-aGOT, AU where Asha rescues Theon in a surprise attack on Winterfell and takes Robb hostage. Back on Pyke, Theon treats Robb like a saltwife. D/s ensues._
> 
> Somehow I ended up with _this_. I feel like I should apologise to all the characters involved in this mess. Instead I am posting it here. Oh well.

In his weakest moments, when things are truly bad, Robb allows himself to blame his lady mother and his lord father. _You've done me wrong_ , he whispers, _you've done me wrong. You've taught me how to use a sword but you've given me no defence. You've never told me not to trust him. You've never. How was I to know. How was I to know_.

 

Theon gently shook him awake. The smell of smoke was thick inside the bedchamber. From outside the window he could hear shouts and the clash of steel on steel. "Hush, little Robb," Theon whispered, "I need you to be very quiet. Can you do that for me?"

He could. Theon was like a brother to him. What reason did he have to suspect him. What reason did he have.

"Winterfell is under attack," Theon said quietly, "we need to get you to safety."

"But who… Why?" Robb asked groggily and rubbed his eyes.

"I don't know, but we need to get you out of here before they find you. It's very, very important that you do exactly as I say. Can you do that for me, wolfling?" and Theon mussed up his hair.

He could and he did. He got out of bed, still in his nightclothes. He grabbed his cloak. He followed Theon down the stone steps. He followed him, gods. But how could he have known. How could he have known.

When did he finally understand? When he saw that Theon was careful to avoid the Stark guardsmen, perhaps, or when Theon pulled him by the hand towards a group of riders Robb had never seen before. Or when someone jabbed him lightly with a lance and his hands were pulled behind his back, and a mounted lady who was dressed like a lord barked an order. Surely he did realise what was happening when Theon sat him on his horse, hands tied back, because he remembered saying: "It's you. You were the attack". And Theon laughed.

But he had trusted Theon. _You've never told me not to_. He had trusted him. Oh gods he had.

 

Theon laughed.

Robb was sick during the horse ride and even sicker on the boat. "Let's get you prettied up for my father," Theon said cheerfully as he wiped the vomit and the tears from his face with a moist cloth.

They pushed him along the narrow bridge ( _I would jump, I would_ ) and down on his knees before Lord Greyjoy. They spat on him, a kick sent him sprawling to the floor. They hurt him. Nobody had ever hurt Robb before. Put him down in the dungeons, one of them said. Cut a finger off his sword hand and send it to his father, suggested another, the Starks must sorely miss their heir. But Theon pulled him up by his hair and made him stand. "I have paid the iron price for this, a thousand times over," he snarled. "The wolfling is mine."

He spent that first night on the bare stone floor of Theon's bedchamber. When Theon arrived to Winterfell they had prepared a chamber for him, a large bed, comfortable furs, a hot bath and a warm meal to comfort the boy after the long journey from Pyke. Robb remembered. Arya had just been born. Now Theon was reborn as well, out of the ashes of his hatred and his contempt.

"I will protect you," he told Robb. "If you let me I will keep you safe."

"I don't believe you," Robb sniffled, but he desperately, so desperately _wanted to_. "You want to do me bad things."

"True enough," Theon agreed, "but it'd be just me. Let me protect you, wolfling."

Even at his age, Robb knew the difference between bad and worse. So he nodded his tearful consent, and Theon laughed.

 

Theon laughs.

He sometimes makes Robb stand in the courtyard with the salty wind blowing in his long curls ( _everything grows wild on the Iron Isles_ ) as Theon aims his longbow at him. Robb knows Theon cannot kill him; he's more valuable to the Greyjoys alive. But that's a small comfort when the arrows are buzzing speedily towards him.

THWISH. "That's for your bitch of a mother," Theon hisses. The arrow flies over Robb's head.

WOOSH. "And that's for your honourable father," the arrow passes between his legs and Robb sobs, too scared to move, "who was not above keeping a boy of ten as a hostage".

THWISH. SWOOSH. "And that's for your bastard brother," to his left, "and your stupid sisters," to his right, "and your baby brothers. Did I tell you we've killed them? We've killed your baby brothers." They didn't, Robb knows. The arrow passes over his right shoulder.

THWISH. "And this is for fucking Robb Stark," Theon releases, "who was so happy and loved once upon a time," and the arrow scratches his left shoulder with a dull THUNG. Robb howls in pain.

"Oops, that must hurt," Theon says. And he laughs.

 

Robb doesn't scream as much as he used to when Theon fucks him. The first time was the worst. The way it hurt, _and why would he do this to me. Why would he._ Now the pain is dim and hollow and not really _his_ , the same way he is not really himself anymore.

"Just like that, wolfling," Theon moans behind him, his hands wrapped tightly around Robb's waist. "This is for your bitch of a mother," he thrusts inside him, "and this is for your honourable father," he pulls back and enters again, harder, "and this for your stupid sister, I fucked her too, you know? Did I tell you how I fucked her insides out?" He didn't, Robb knows. He sobs as Theon buries himself inside him.

"Is that what you wanted to do to me, Theon?" he asks him faintly once. "Even in Winterfell, did you want to do this to me?"

Theon doesn't answer. His fingers tighten around Robb's hips and he moves so fast that Robb falls forward on the bed. His breath is salty and ragged on Robb's neck.

"I trusted you," Robb mumbles, "I thought you were my friend. I thought you liked me."

Theon grunts, "Oh, I like you, wolfling," and he yanks Robb's head back forcefully, thrusts forward so hard Robb has trouble breathing, then comes inside him with a loud groan, "I like you well enough."

And Theon laughs.

 

In their tender moments, Theon guides Robb's mouth to his cock, leans back and shuts his eyes with a satisfied sigh. He doesn't abuse him then. He doesn't hurt him. After a while Theon's fingers start playing with Robb's auburn curls. _Softly. So softly._

So Robb closes his eyes, lulled by the gentleness of the touch, and pretends that it is his mother.

The tears are streaming down his cheeks, but Theon doesn't laugh.

 

 

 


End file.
